


Fabled

by Oienel



Series: Magic Series [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Body Worship, F/M, One Night Stands, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Three Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 04:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8829955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oienel/pseuds/Oienel
Summary: Sehun is a pro swimmer, but more importantly a stripper by night.Or: it takes three times to seal the deal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It was originally posted on tumblr, as a part of Magic series (inspired by Magic Mike).

The surface of the water is being breached once again. Long arm dives and the head follows. And once again the body is fighting the surface tension. The swimmer gets to the end of the pool and you hold your breath as he does the perfect tumble and he goes back. The length of his stroke is something you will never reach, but then again you don’t have to. The perfect lines on his arm, the shapes of deltoid, biceps and triceps you see during the recovery are just a wonder.

Especially to you massage therapist in training.

But you shouldn’t just stand here and gawk at one of the best swimmers your university have, but rather you should go on with your training. You look over to the coaches’ room, but your coach is still busy with whatever he is doing.

You sigh but nonetheless stand up and stretch your arms above your head, feeling how wet swimsuit is clinging to your frame. You have goosebumps, your body chilled from the water slowly drying on your skin. You smell of chlorine and the uneven surface of the tiles under your feet is digging into your skin as you walk to the edge of the pool.

The swimmer reached the end of the pool and you observe him with the corner of your eye, as you climb onto the elevated post. One of his arms came out of water and he is holding onto the metal bar on the post on his line. The strained muscles are sculpted so amazingly that you just want to run your hands down his arm. He takes of his swimming glasses and you can see the red lines around his eyes. His cap goes next and you know that it’s the end of his training.

Good, now you will be able to focus on yours.

He hoists himself up on his hands and you are already gone. The way muscles of his arms work under his skin… He stands next to his post, long, nimble body on the full display. He starts stretching and you can help yourself, so you let your eyes roam his body. Your stare slides up the pale, but toned legs, defined abdomen, definitely here chest and you reach his face.

You sigh and finally lunge off the post. You enter the water with minimal surface breach and start with the fly.

_If he only didn’t have the resting bitch face._

*

Hair drying is always the biggest pain in the ass. That’s why you never train in the morning, you wouldn’t make it to your lectures in time.

To make the drying easier you are bent over with a blow-dryer in your hand, the stream of air currently on the back of your head. You use your fingers to brush your hair and to move damp hairs. In this position you mostly see your legs and wall.

Maybe that’s why you don’t realize somebody is in the corridor, until he speaks. You actually only hear the sound of his voice, the meaning of the words blurred, because of the blow-dryer. You straighten yourself abruptly and turn off the dryer.

The pale swimmer is leaning against the wall. You feel ridiculous and out of place, because the first thought in your head at this sight is how much it seems like a scene from an anime.

Tall, pale, mysterious guy, with hair falling on his face, leaning against the wall in the half dark corridor.

_Pretentious much?_

“Yeah?” You ask.

“You need to work on your hands while doing the push. You lose a lot of power force there. It’s also the reason why your body roll is not enough in the fly.”

You are lucky your mouth is not hanging open. You’ve never talked, and the first thing he says to you is a critique about your swimming style?

“Are you talking to me?” You ask incredulously, checking if there is somebody standing behind your back. There isn’t. So it means that he is talking to you. Which is uncanny.

“Yeah, actually, I am.” He says fidgeting on his legs. You don’t like this situation, so you quickly pack your dryer to your bag, figuring out that it’s better to go out with wet hair than stand here.

“Well, ok, I will take note of this. Thank you.” You say throwing a strap from your sport bag on your shoulder. “See you around.”

You turn around and start moving to the exit.

“Wait!” His voice is a little bit urgent and you turn around to see that he actually started to chase after you. Quickly, judging from the distance he made in this short period of time. He looks embarrassed about this.

At least you think so, because his ever present bitch resting face is, surprise, present.

Your fingers clench on the strap.

“Yeah?”

“I saw you staring at me.” Oh, god, _perfect_. You already feel the blush creep up your spine. “Back there.”

You are ashamed of yourself, but you are not going to lose your calm.  
“Yeah, I did.” You think that you see a glint in his eyes, as you admit. “Your body is kinda perfect, and my major is all about human body, so I can’t really help it.”

Well, you could help it. But to deny yourself the view like that is a crime.

“Yeah.”

The silence is clearly uncomfortable, but you have nothing to say. You wait few seconds more and clear your throat as a way of farewell and once again turn around to walk away.

You make two step, before he calls out to you again. You take a deep breath to calm yourself and once again you turn around. This time he hasn’t moved from his spot, but his hand is nipping nervously at the strap of his bag.

At least you figure that is a nervous trick, since his face is as blank as always.

“Can I walk you home?”

What the fuck? You are weirded out as fuck and you don’t know what to say so you just nod, the agreement feels forced.

His face doesn’t change as he walks past you and opens the door. He looks at you with anticipation as he holds them open.

It doesn’t help at all with the awkwardness of this whole scenario, but you obediently walk out. You walk together side by side, his longer legs clearly falling in step with you. You are thankful for that, because you wouldn’t run after him.

You don’t talk and as far as you can tell, he doesn’t even look at you.

The walk from the pool is short, as you live on the campus. You arrive together at the entrance to your residents hall and you stop just before the stairs leading to the porch. You turn to him just when he turns to you.

“So… Thanks?” You say, the uncertain tone clear in your voice.

“Yeah. See you around.” He says and walks away, his hands in front pockets of his jeans.

You look after his tall silhouette, definitely creeped out.

_What the fuck was that?_

*

One thing is sure. Even if the whole thing freaked you out, the guy managed to do one thing: he made impossible for you to forget about him.

Not that you care. There are worse thing to have on your mind. He was particularly useful while you were learning leg muscles for an upcoming quiz. It’s always easier to learn if you can see the particular thing in your mind.

And you saw the guy’s legs often enough to be able to point out the toned muscles. You will use him again while learning upper body muscles, that is certain.

The thought makes you smile a little as your mind is filled with a  images of his perfectly sculpted, hairless chest. Wet chest. The smooth expanse of his torso… You wouldn’t mind touching that.

There is a muffled scream and you are surprised it isn’t coming from your mouth. It should, considering the fact how hot the thought of his chest made you. But the scream comes from the room next door and you sigh.

Time to perform your duties as a best friend. When your bestie is in need, you are obliged to help. Even if it means stuffing the image of a perfect body back where it came from.

*

Friday rolls around and you have to say you are excited. For a few past weeks Friday night means a great thing. Of course, it means a great thing for your academic development. Every Friday night you get to study human body, how it moves, how the muscles move under the skin, what it is capable of…

Or being completely blunt: every Friday night you go to see strippers.

Yup, there it is.

It started on the last day of the previous semester – your friends bought you Chippendales as your birthday present and you couldn’t stop fantasying about that ever since. Luckily for you, few days into new semester you stumbled upon the leaflet about weekly stripping show.

And you are perfectly sure that you can spare a few bills for strictly academic purposes.

There is a knock on your door and your friend doesn’t even wait for you to answer before she comes in and throws herself on your bed.

“Are you ready?” She asks elongating  the vowels. You laugh and rise your eyebrow at her as if to say “duh, of course”.

She jumps out of your bed and throws arm around your neck as you walk out. You stop to check the room next to yours, but you are not even surprised to find it locked. Since Ma found herself a boyfriend she was never there.

You sigh internally. Stable partner would mean stable sex life.

The campus is filled with students. No surprise there, but you do look around looking for swimmer. You don’t find him, but you notice groups of girls walking in the same direction as the two of you. The Strippers’ Show is infamous, yet popular.

You reach the venue knowing well, that your entrance is not the main entrance and you walk around the building to find a stairs to the basement. There is a security guy checking IDs. As always the place is flooded with red light making it look like a whorehouse.

It’s not like you mind. First steps you take lead you to the bar, while your friend lunges under the stage to find best possible seats. For a good measure you buy two kamikaze sets and, as a joke, two Sexes-On-The-Beach. You need a  tray to take it all to your friend, but when you do you see that she found a perfect table.

The stage is “T” shape, with top line being the main stage and the “l” dividing the crowd. You both know well enough that the best things always happen at the end of the “l” part and you were sitting right there. The first table on the left from the stairs leading from the stage.

You both managed to down three of your four shots and the show started.

The lights changed from red to blue and the beat heavy on the drums invaded the space. Another light turned on, it was at the back of the stage illuminating the red sheet of a thin material. This way you could see the frames of the 7 guys standing behind it.

Seven?

You checked again, but there were only seven of them. You were surprised since it was first time they didn’t start with all nine of them.

But just then they started to dance and you discarded the thought, your mind filled with music and hip thrusts.

Like always they were exiting the curtain one by one.

The first to show himself, as always, was Xiumin. By now you didn’t need the introduction coming from the speakers. This time his hair were down, his eyeliner sinful. His jean vest was already open and the roar that came from the throats of the girls crowded inside was deafening. He didn’t even need to do anything, but he did. Glorious hip thrust accentuated his presence.

Just like that he was gone, and the other one was walking out.

Suho hasn’t gone easy on the eyeliner, either. He danced for a moment, but the loudest applause he got when he lifted his shirt just before leaving the stage.  
Girls know what they want.

The next one was Lay. His pants were clinging to his legs and the way he danced awakened the primal need in you. And when he sensually lifted his shirt and did a fullbody roll. And another. And another, his abdominal muscles contracting and relaxing in turns. Marvelous.

Peck took the stage. He danced around, but it was more playful than sexy. Everybody here knew what was his forte: singing. And his perfect fingers, teasing audience with gestures and his grip on the mic.

The tallest one came on, Virus. You knowledge of the anatomy was enough o confirm that he was definitely too tall to be good dancer, but his voice? Man, that was a definite pant-wetter.

DO came out, and your head snapped up. It shouldn’t be DO. The next in the line was Chen? What happened to Chen? You were so curious as to where was the singing god , that you nearly missed the sexy (yet murderous) stare that DO sent off the stage and the venue shook with the force of the hooting and screaming.

The last one was Kid. Again, the Kai was missing, and you kind of missed him. He was one of the two that graced your birthday. Actually, the first time you came here your friend had to point this out, since at your birthday you were too drunk to remember their faces. And the whole time they had those big-ass aviator sunglasses on so it was hard.

The second one was Kid. And you knew that he was the one to nearly fuck you on the floor of your parent’s apartment. Not that you minded.

But you were sure that you’d like to feel that again. But this time you’d like to be more coherent.

You suspected that the introduction part went from the oldest one to the youngest, but the stages had reverse chronology, so the first one was Kid.

You cheer loudly with other as he starts to dance. The beat is sensual and it doesn’t take him much to get on his knees. The way his hips gyrate on the floor, how he seems to fuck the floor… You are hot and the only thing you want right now is to find yourself under him. You’d love to see his eyes, as always covered by sunglasses.

The moment he tears off his tanktop is glorious. And everybody is thinking the same thing as the club goes wild. The bills are starting to pour on the stage and you can’t look away from him as he gets on his knees once again in front of some girls, who stick their notes in his waistband when he pushes his hips in their direction.

He jumps of the stage and graces few tables with his presence and his sinful waist. Every girl is eager, because they know, that he is searching for his prey. And who doesn’t want to find themselves under the lean, skillful body?  
Hell, you’d do an awful lot to be his pick for tonight.

And you see the exact moment he sees your table. He slides towards you, every step precise and the swaying of his hips just a little bit too much for your peace of mind. To the last moment your heart tells you he will pick your friend, but he dives between your legs.

(You won’t say that you are relieved, but… you are relieved.)

Just like that night, he takes your legs and puts them on his shoulders. You instinctively grab his neck when he stands up. The sound that comes out your throat is loud and excited. He lays you on stage and jumps on top of you. His first wave on top of you makes you stick the bill behind his waistband and he answers with a push in your hand. Just like that you are gone. You want to touch, you want to feel his skin under your fingers, but you don’t want to cross boundaries.

You laugh incredulously at yourself. Boundaries. With a stripper.

You are actually so gone that you did laugh out loud. And Kid must have heard that, because his lips form a little smile and the next thing he does leaves you breathless. The bodyroll, so tight and so close to your body that you can feel his dick between your legs.

You choke. You can feel your underwear getting wet and your skin tingles. The beat is flowing through your arteries and your view is sheltered by his shoulders. But you know that notes are still falling down.

He takes your hands and runs them down his chest and you moan against yourself.

The perfectly sculpted chest, pale, toned, hairless…

Hairless?

_Fuck._

Your eyes fly open and you see his face just above yours. Your heart stops when you recognize it. How the _fuck_ you haven’t recognized it earlier. How the fuck you could walk inside the bar every _fucking_ week and drool to the guy and not realize that he is your _fucking_ swimmer.

Few days ago Kid walked you home.

Now he was dry humping you on the stage, you laying on the bed of bills, the red light dancing on his skin, the music nearly drowned out by the vigorous screams.

You are hazed the rest of the song and you stumble when he walks you to your chair. You don’t react when your friend moves over to gush over what has just happened. You try your best to stay in place during next performances, but you are restless and you really need to get a breath of fresh air.

Your blood is still boiling and you really, really need to find a way to relieve the tension in your body. You are aroused. You are horny. You are confused.

You excuse yourself to your friend, and knowing well enough that you are going to get so much shit for that tomorrow, but you really need to go out.

Just before standing up you pour the last shot down your throat and finish the rest of the drink. Going out is not easy. Girls try to gather as close as possible to the stage and they block your way. Finally you are out, and you stumble as you walk up the stairs.

You grab the handrail, the metal cold and sticky under your fingers. The doors open and you look around to check.

Of course it’s _him_.

You live in a _fucking_ anime.

He looks as unfazed as always, and you miss his little smile from the stage. He fidgets a little on his legs, but none of you say anything so he takes a brave step to you. You don’t react and he comes up another step.

You only hear the sound of the crumpled money and he lifts your shirt a little and your heart stops, when he slides the note into the waistband of your jeans.  
You feel the warmth of his fingers through the paper and he slowly moves in, brushing your hairs away to murmur in your ear.

“For you I do it for free.”

You swoon and you feel yourself flooding. The heat radiating from his hands, one near your neck, one on your hip, warms your body. It adds to your arousal and in your tipsy state you think that you got an amazing plan. Glorious idea.

And you act on it.

Back there, in the dark alley, with a faint sound of music from the club which the few guys are stripping to, with a cold bar under your hand, you stumble forward and kiss him.

It didn’t go as planned. You are not exactly sure, how it was supposed to go, but you are damn sure, he was not supposed to snap back and stare at you incredulously. But so he did.

You are definitely more sober than you were a while ago. And you are noticeably more embarrassed. Your brain goes crazy flooding your mind with every embarrassing moment you have ever lived through, possible ways to die; and on top of that your amygdale turns on the escape mechanism.

His face is as blank as ever and you start to move away, the crumbling sound of the bill mark the moment in which you are out of his reach. You consider apologizing, but you are not sure if you’ll be able to stomach his presence long enough to deliver the words.

You are not even sure if you have blinked all this time and your eyes start to water. You tell yourself it’s not a shame nor embarrassment.

But then, his mouth form a lazy smile and your heart skips a beat. Is he going to mock you? He looks like a person who would.

“I could use a warm body in my bed tonight.”

Well, that is not mocking.

Your arousal is back, hitting you with double force. To say the truth, it has never subdued, it has been only covered by your embarrassment. You will your courage back and say in the voice not sounding like yours.

“Only if your pillows are comfortable enough.”

“They are good enough to muffle your screams.” He deadpans and grabs your wrist, prying your fingers away from the cold bar. The emotionless delivery stands in contrast with his fast actions. Just like that he walks you through the campus. There is an urgent voice in the back of your mind asking if he can leave his performance just like that.

And you probably say that aloud since he looks back at you and shrugs:

“They will manage.”

And he just keeps walking. For the first time in your life you are content enough to be dragged around like that. Usually a try like that would result in you throwing a fit since you can walk on your own, but this time… You are still not exactly sure how the fuck did that happened, but you are sober enough to know that you are walking with a guy you barely know (but you definitely know his body) to his place to screw him.

Or to make him screw you. Potato, potato.

It’s a third time in your life that you are going to have a one night stand, but for the first time you are sober enough to know what you are doing and the walk through the campus is nerve-wrecking. Your arousal is boiling in the bottom of your stomach and you can’t stop to stare at his back. He has a blue collar shirt on – the one that would never make anyone say: “yeah, he works as a stripper”. The way his shoulder blades strain the fabrics, leaving the part covering his spine loose and moving with his every step, makes your mouth water.

And he probably knows that, seeing how he looked back to you, one corner of his mouth raised in self-satisfied smile.

“Don’t you think it’s too early for you to be satisfied?” You ask.

“It comes from experience.”

You roll your eyes and the convenience store catches your attention. Once again you speak up.

“Do you have condoms?”

“I like the plural form here.” It shouldn’t be as thrilling as it seems to be for your body. But the wetness between your legs speaks for itself. “Yeah, don’t worry. With a job I do, it’s obvious I have a stock.”

It’s not really reassuring. You know it’s only a one night stand, but you don’t like the notion of his past (and probably numerous) encounters. But on the other hand it could mean that he knows exactly what is he doing.

His place is just outside the campus. Which you are thankful for, because you don’t want to walk anymore, you want to feel his skin under your fingers.

You lean on the cold wall as he opens the doors to his apartment. The cold surface calms you enough to act bold. And when he hold the door open for you, you walk inside and first take of your shoes. When you are sure that the door is closed and he is taking his shoes off as well you ask.

“So, where your infamous pillows?” You think you see the smile on his lips as he answers.

“Second door on the left. “ You don’t wait for him as you walk there. But you leave the trail for him to follow. Actually one garment left in the middle of the corridor, your shirt.

The room is small and mostly bare, but there is a bed and it’s all that matters. You take of your socks and jump on the bed. Pillows are comfortable enough.

He walks in with your shirt in his hand and he throws it on his chair.

“I do live with roommates.” He says drily. You feel kind of embarrassed, but comparing to the freezing feeling form earlier this is nothing. And there is no bite in his words, and he is eyeing the expanse of your torso. So you feel enough to say:

“It’s your problem, not mine. I only hope they won’t interfere.” His eyebrows go up and you can see how he fights his smile and busies himself with opening his shirt instead.

“Yeah, don’t worry. They are all at the club.”

A group of strippers living together?

But your focus is on his long nimble fingers working his buttons open. The shirt slowly opens and you don’t hide the way you stare at it. No point in hiding, he knows you are here for his body. An hour ago you had this body on top of yours and you want more. Only an hour ago you were close enough to engrave every detail of his chest into your memory, but you want more.

“You know my face is right there?” He asks, but you hear the amusement in his voice. You are also amused since it’s usually a girl line.

“I know, but I prefer your chest.”

Finally the shirt is off and he jumps on top of you, with a fucking body roll. You do squeak in surprise, but it just warms you up as he settles between your legs, his groin aligning  with your clothed crotch. Your pelvic floor muscles cramp.

“I would ask if you are sure, but I think your shirt on my chair is enough of an answer?” You are flattered that he still asks, even when you move your legs to hook them around his. You feel tempted to ignore his words, but you feel like you need to give him a definite answer.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You can see a glint in his eyes when he moves in for a kiss. You don’t wait for him to pry your lips open, you just go for an open mouth kiss and he quickly accommodates his tongue hooking up on your upper teeth.  He swipes his tongue across your dentition and it takes a sharp tug of your hands (that found their way into his hair) for him to engage your tongue. The kiss is wet, neither of you able to swallow. You have a half mind left to remember about breathing through your nose, but it’s hard. Especially with his weight on your chest.

It doesn’t matter.

Not when you run your hands down his back, your fingers without your thought finding every dip, every line, every hill of muscles and bones. You count the vertebras with the tips of your fingers, therapist in you working out the knots you find in your way. You dig your fingers under his shoulder blades and outline it, to commit the experience in your memory. As you go down, working the latissimus dorsi muscle, or the broadest muscle of the back, you relish in the smoothness of the swimmers body.

He bites your lip as you reach the sacrum and you just drag your nails up his back. That makes him break the kiss and he hisses loudly.

You like the sound. He sends you a slightly mad stare and you feel it pooling in your stomach. He moves down and bites your neck. It’s your turn to hiss and your hips come off the mattress. It’s like he didn’t hear you, and he bites your collarbone next, his hands sliding under your body to take off your bra.

You are reminded of his apparent history, when he takes it off without much of a hassle. Hell, even you’d have problem taking it off why laying on the fastening. The garment is thrown in the vague direction of the chair and his head is buried between your breast – his teeth nipping at the skin he can reach. You knead your fingers into trapesius, the muscle on his upper back. His hands slide down your sides and you can feel your hair rising in their wake.

It’s nice and all, but you did not come here for a sensual love making.

Again you probably say that out loud, because he abruptly moves up to look at you. You just shrug and he bites the inside of his mouth. You are pretty sure, that he would be laughing otherwise.  

He sits up on his heels, your legs falling on the mattress. You are both topless, but both of you still have your jeans on. There is nothing to wait for so you sit up and your hands go straight to his fly. As you pop open the button, he uses both of his hands to tip your head up and he kisses you once again. You begin to get addicted to being kissed by his cherry lips. But that doesn’t distract you from the task at hand. Even with your eyes closed you blindly drag down the zipper and your hand sneaks into his jeans. Even through the soft cotton his penis seems to be burning your hand.

You don’t get the chance to slide your hand down his underwear, because he moves back with a throaty groan and he just flips you over. You don’t know if it’s a trade secret, because your limbs go flying and you squeak, but he emerges unharmed. You catch yourself on your hands and knees, seconds before you smash your face into the mattress. The bed creaks in protest and you feel tempted to voice your own objections, but you don’t get a chance.

His hands find your own fly and he opens it just as quickly as your bra. The anticipations creeps up your spine and your breath hitch as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your jeans – his hands cold on the small of your back. He drags the fabrics down too slow for your liking and then you feel the hot breath on your buttock and then…

… _fuck._

Your arms collapse under your weight, your breast jiggling as you fall down on your elbows and you keen high in your throat as he bites into your ass. It hurts, but you can’t help yourself and you just push your hips back, your knees spreading on its own volition. The hard fabrics of your pants digs into your thighs and slides up your skin. Just after the bite comes a stinging slap, but you are not sure if he did this intentionally, but his hand lands on the back of your thigh, and it fucking hurts. Yet your body seems to betray you. Even as you lunge forward from the force of his slap, you feel the surge of your liquids and the potent thirst overcoming your body.

Your head hangs down and you are surprised how quickly your body slides into submission. Clearly pleased he drags your pants all the way down, underwear caught in its folds. You help him by kicking your legs and just like that you are naked, insides of your thighs wet. He comes up and glues his chest to your back. One of his hands find your breast, the tissue swollen and weighting your chest down – the gravitation doing its job. The other hand slides up your throat and rests on your jaw, forefinger on the corner of your mouth.

You whine slightly, aroused out of your mind. His open jeans dig into the skin of your butt, but you can’t complain. Not when his dick, straining the soft cotton, nestles between your buttocks. He drags the flat of his tongue across your shoulder blade and up your neck. You shake your hair out of the way and when he reaches your ear he whispers:

“Grab a pillow.”

You hiccup, your hands balling up into fists on his sheets, the promise in his voice too much. And he backs up, your body is suddenly bared to the chilling air of the room. The cold and anticipation makes your skin tingle. You don’t move, but you can see his clothed legs from between your naked ones. He is scooting back on the bed and his fingers clench on your thighs.

The first swipe of his tongue across your labia is like a gulp of a cold water on the sunny day. Relieving. You sigh and move your feet to support yourself on your toes. He is not hurrying, slow swipe after swipe. That relaxes you and even though your arousal is spiking up, the tension of your body is slowly fading away.

You are relaxed enough to breathe through your nose. You even consider calling him up on his promise.

“Ok, ready?” He asks suddenly and your eyes fly open. Ready for _what_?

And like that he just sucks up onto your clitoris. Your body goes rigid and you do scream. And he doesn’t let you rest. After first ten seconds of constant stimulation you bite into the pillow. You are amazed by his stamina and the force of his suction, but then your head is just blank. The tears are falling down your face, because it’s too much. Your whole body shakes from the tension accumulated in your muscles, but the only rest you get is a brief moment, when he takes a deep breath. You’d later suspect that he was breathing through his nose for the most of the ordeal, but now you shiver, just trying not to pass out.

You open your mouth to scream, but the sound doesn’t come out, you only feel your saliva dripping on the pillow. Your nails dig into your skin through the sheets.

You think you actually black out, since the next thing you know, you are laying on the bed, still naked, your cheek on the wet patch of the pillow. He is sitting in his chair, naked, your clothes probably crumpled under his ass. His hand is loosely wrapped around his erected dick and your eyes slide up his shaft.

You need to feel that thing inside you before this night is over.

He notices that you are awake and the smile that shows on his lips is rubbing you off. The amount of self-satisfaction is too high.

“As I told you, some things come from experience.”

“Stop yapping, and come here.” You whine, but there is no bite in your words. His smile becomes a notch broader.

“I was going to ask you about that, but…” He doesn’t end his sentence and opens the drawer. You are happy just laying on the bed, so you watch him as he fishes out the box of condoms and tears open one of them. Your eyes follow his hands with interest as he puts it on and pumps his cock few times to make sure it fits well.

Then he stands up and comes to you. You throw away the wet pillow and move your legs up to go back on your knees. Before you can, he hops on the bed and again flips you over. Your breath is kicked out of your lungs as you fall on the mattress, but he is not done. Instead of coming to you, he grabs your thighs and just drags you down the bed. The sheets are crumbling under your body, and your arousal immediately spikes up – your hand search something to grab on above your head. Your fingers tangle into sheets and you drag them down as well. When your ass reaches his knees his hips come forward to meet yours and he breaches you. You whine and trash on the bed. Your back arches and he slides back, just to force himself back in.

You would describe his penis as one of those one feels in their throat. You are just so full, but your body has been prepared well. Even if your vagina has stretched to accommodate unusual girth, your senses are on the overdrive, since he seems to stimulate all your nerves in the same time. And the sight of him rolling his hips into you is another potent stimulator.

Because he moves just like if he was back on the stage. Only smooth, fluid motions, enough teasing to drive you crazy and enough skin for you to ache to touch. So you do. He actually moves forward and rests on his hands, when he sees you rise your arms. Your fingers map out his chest, his prefect, pale chest and then slides on his back.

But it’s a moment in which he slides all the way out and you cry out in surprise and frustration. He just sends you a lazy smile and grabs your left leg, lifting it up and straddles your right leg. You move on your right side to accommodate the stretch between your legs, tendons pulling madly. You are quite flexible, but it’s not a thing you’d even consider doing in bed.

But he doesn’t care. He just puts your heel on his shoulder, making you hook your foot behind his neck and he slams into you. New angle is just glorious and you have never been stimulated like this. He falls forward, his weight making your tendons stretch even further and it hurts like a _bitch_ , but the way he snaps his hips into you is perfect and you don’t want for it to end. He is fucking into you with short, energetic and sinful thrusts just like overstimulated bunny and it’s the most arousing thing you felt in months.

And when you feel yourself tipping over the edge, your teeth clenched and nails of your left hand digging into your own thigh, right hand clawing the sheets, he changes the pace. He uses your stretched leg to dance and sensually slide into you. He is like water, fluid and perfect and you need to choke back a sob.

You are thoroughly fucked, but he shows no signs of nearing. His chest is flushed and his body is glazed over with sweat, but he shows no strain otherwise. _Damn his stamina_. Your toes are curling, your torso is heaving and you just feel boneless, even when your muscles are cramping and he? He is having a walk in the park, his moves straight from the Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake.

And he changes the pace yet again. He goes back to the vigorous, yet restrained snaps of his hips, a soft growl forming on his lips. His hair is finally starting to stick to his forehead and you start to see the labored movement of his chest, but otherwise he is unfazed. Your head lolls back on the bed, you are to strung out to hold it up anymore. You want to be over with it, but at the same time you want it to never end. Every single part of this is amazing. Your partner, the stretch of your legs, your hurting tendons, cramping muscles, foot falling asleep from being too long in the air, the fullness of your vagina, the head of his cock catching on your entrance every time he slides out, the silent mantra on your lips, the drop of sweat rolling down your body, liquid cooling your overheated skin.

You are not sure when your orgasm comes, but at least this time you don’t pass out. But your body wants to, because he still fucks you, prolongating your sufferings. Your leg starts to slide down from his shoulder, but he just grabs your ankle, fingers digging into tissue.

You are not sure how long it takes him to come, but you know it’s too long. But when he finally does he is as quiet as he was the whole time. He does emit a throaty moan but it’s nothing compared to wail you emitted a while earlier. He slowly drops your leg down on the bed and the cramp that follows is ridiculously painful. You nearly come of the bed trying to fight it away. By the time you are done, he has already discarded his condom and is laying on his bed. You are not sure if you are supposed to go already, but you are too tired to try, so you just lay next to him.

He answers your unspoken question turning on his side facing you and he just drags you to him. In reward for mindblowing sex you get a back hug.

“So. How about that?” He asks, his voice still strained.

You laugh.

“Yeah, I agree it does come with experience, Kid.” He groans and falls on his back. You turn around to look at him, and he has hand covering his face.

“Could you not call me ‘Kid’ right after I fucked your brains out?” He growls and you laugh again at his indignity.

“Sorry, how should I call you?” You ask patting his upper chest. Before he answers his arm encircles your back and he drags you to him.

“I’m Sehun. Oh Sehun.”

“You mean I should have moaned ‘ _oh, Sehun_ ’?”

“Yeah, you should have.”

*

One of the most awkward things in the life of a single student is waking up in the bed of your one-night-stand. With your head thumping madly and Sahara in your mouth, you want to groan, but decide against it, hoping that Sehun is still asleep. The room is dark and you are thankful for that. You slide down the bed, carefully, not to stir him awake. You doesn’t, but as soon as you stand up your stomach protest and you need to take few calming breaths to soothe your insides.

The thing even more awkward is trying to find your bra in the heap of clothes, but you finally do and you get dressed looking at his stilled frame. It’s not bright enough for you to savour his body, but you can see that the blanket is covering only one of his legs, his chest, other leg and his dick uncovered. He looks peaceful and certainly sated.

You are sore between your legs, but it’s a great thing to feel. But not great enough to wait for him to wake up. How awkward _that_ would get?

You quietly slide out of the room. There is a faint light in the corridor and your heart drops. Somebody is here and you don’t want to be a butt of their jokes, but at the same time you really want to go back to your place.

So you will your courage back and try to be invisible as you go for the doors. The light comes from the kitchen. There is a guy sitting at the table, nearly empty bottle of beer in front of him. He looks up, when you try to walk past the door to the kitchen.

“Sehun?” He asks and you don’t answer. You definitely don’t look like Sehun, but maybe he is asking if you were with Sehun. Which is glorious, actually. You _needed_ to hear a reminder of his numerous conquests. Just to make sure you remember.

You _do_. Now you are one of them.

The guy walks out of the kitchen as you try to put the other shoe on.

“Could you tell me one thing?” You can tell that he is drunk and he is drinking out of frustration. The shoe finally gives in and you straighten up your back looking at him. “ If a girl hates you…”

“Then you are fucked.”

You say and walk out of the apartment. You are not going to help a guy with his love life, when your own love life is pretty fucked up. At least you got some.

But as you walk across the campus the regret hits you. It was glorious, yes. It was amazing, yes. It was _mindblowing_ , yes. But was is worthy being another scratch on Sehun’s bed? You try to will those thoughts away, but being raised in the society, where girls’ needs are being disregarded and suppressed, doesn’t help with your turmoil.

You finally reach your own bed and just fall on it, not caring that you stink of sex, alcohol and him. You will probably wake up to your makeup smeared on your pillow, but you just drift to sleep.

The thing with one-night-stands is that you want to keep the fact that you had one to yourself, and at the same time, you want to inform everybody around you how awesome it was. Your body yearns for the guy that made you touch the sky, and your mind wants to forget him as quickly as possible. You are embarrassed that you did that, shedding all the caution, and you are proud that you managed to woo the guy like that in your bed (technically it was his bed, but it doesn’t matter). Your hormones yell at you to get him once again, your brain is strongly opposing that notion.

And thus, you promptly ignore him, when you enter the pool next time you have your training. He is, of course, already there, his back coming out of the water in the perfect butterfly and, as always, you get distracted by the perfect muscles on his back, and how his hands straighten during the recovery and how the muscles flex…

You snap out of it, just in time, his back disappearing in the turn. You are going to start promptly ignoring him from now on.

To your massive disappointment, he doesn’t care. Or more like he ignores you as well. He doesn’t look your way through the whole training session. Not even _once_.

You have to say that your pride got slam dunked. _Were you this bad in bed?_

You coin your anger into the power to swim additional laps (and your coach is pretty thrilled) and thanks to that anger you manage not to look at him during this whole time. Which is actually ridiculous. Your anger. It was just a one-night-stand. It’s better to forget about that and just go on with your life.

Even if you still can feel the ghost of his penis between your legs. And the bruises he left on your skin are still visible. But thankfully your swim suit covers most of them, and the rest just looks like a bruise you could get by walking onto the corner of a table or something like that.

You kind of suspect he will appear next to you, when you are drying your hair to walk you home, but he doesn’t. Your mood is sour for next few hours and you don’t want to admit that this is a reason behind your discontent.

It takes you few days before the constant need to lay with him again fades. It’s still here, and you suspect that Sehun’s body will always turn you on, but the desire is not overwhelming anymore. But that doesn’t mean you’d want to try to ruin your newly regained balance by going to the Friday Show. You decide to forgo it for a while. Which gets you weird looks from your friend and the long, whiny nagging session how you left her there alone last time.

You look guilty enough for her to let it slide and you are not forced to come.

It’s been a week since the guy fucked you senseless, and you start to recall that evening with a smile and a surge of wetness between your thighs.

Maybe you will spend your evening with a trusty friend, Brigthy-The-Vibrator.

_May it be a nice evening._

Next time you feel embarrassment the moment you see Sehun doing his laps. You did masturbated to the thought of his body, and that shouldn’t be as pleasant as it was. This time it’s shame that helps you not to look at him. Which is hard, since this time he is practicing the jumps and the way his body breaches the surface of water makes you remember how he breached you.

As always you finish your training before he does. The water drips down your body, when you walk to the lockers room. You didn’t take your towel from the locker, but you nearly never take it. The swimming glasses are hanging on your neck and your cap is in your hand as you brush your hair with your fingers, trying to shake the water out of your locks.

Your hand reaches the metal handle on the door, but you don’t have enough strenght to open it. Which startles you, since you’ve never had that problem before. You look down checking if there is something obstructing the door, but there isn’t, so you look up.

There is a pale hand on the doors, keeping them closed. You don’t need to turn around to check to whom it belongs. You are thankful that you are generally pretty wet right now, since you can feel yourself dampening down there.

You take a pained inhale and turn around, your wet swim suit dragging on the wooden doors.

He is not smiling, and you don’t see the playful glint in his eyes. But neither he looks angry. He looks just always. Unfazed.

“You weren’t there. At the last show.” He states flatly. You don’t know if you are supposed to clap.

“Yeah.” You drawl out.

“And you weren’t there when I woke up that night.” He says, just as flatly as a moment before. God, you’d better get ready to clap. Such an observant!

“Yeah?” You repeat yourself, adding a little bit of a question to your intonation.

He moves closer to you and you need to jump start your brain again, because your face is just centimeters away from his chest. His perfectly sculpted chest. Your head snaps up, so you can look at his face, not that attractive to you as his body is. It helps you think.

_God, he is so tall._

“I think I miss you.” He says, and you rise your eyebrows at him, but he comes even closer and you feel his dick on your thigh.

Oh, _god._

“We miss you.”

Hearing Sehun talk about his dick, as if it was a person, is both disturbing and arousing. And it shouldn’t be. It should just be disturbing. And creepy. But you have already started learning that your body does what it wants. And right now it wants his personified cock inside you.

But your mind is not going to give up easily. Even when your blood starts flowing downwards.

“ ‘We miss you’? Do you really think this is an acceptable way to hook somebody up?”

“If it’s working? Then why not?” He says crouching over you and pushing his thigh between your legs. His height makes it hard to achieve and you find yourself rising onto your toes to accommodate his thigh pushing you up.

“Who said it was working?” You ask him indignantly and he just stares at you. It’s that blank stare that always made you wonder if there is something happening in his head. Because you are not really sure. But this time his stare is more pointed than usual and to your complete embarrassment, you notice that your hips are rutting slightly on his leg. And you are rubbing yourself on his cock.

You immediately still yourself, but damage is already done.

“Your body said so.” He cranes his neck so can whisper into your ear, his lips brushing the shell. It’s so hot, you nearly pass out right there, but at the same time you feel sorry for the guy, because he is too tall to pull that position off without some serious acrobatic stunt on his part. But he manages, and you suspect it’s a result of his endless turns in the pool.

“But my mind disagrees.” You say stubbornly, but you know that your defenses are weak. At your words he straightens abruptly and you miss his breath on your skin. Now you can also feel that the air around you is not exactly warm, and water drying on your skin chills you. Which means your nipples are straining the still-wet material of your swim suit.

“Are you seriously going to keep this up, when we both know that we can use this time to fuck in the storage room?” The bluntness of his words stuns you speechless. “Ok, so I will ask directly, once, and then we can go and have fun or we can go home. Wanna have some good time with me?”

The absurdity of this scene is freezing your brain, but your body can work on its own. The meaning of his words have yet to penetrate your mind, but your limbs already answer his threat. Of course you don’t want to go home after something like this. You want to feel his hands on you.

Right _now_.

Your arms come up around his neck and you yank him down, because when he is standing you can’t hook your arms around him comfortably. His hands rest on the door on both sides of your head and he stays like this looking at you. _Expectantly?_

It disturbs you how he always waits for a clear, verbal consent.

You clear your throat.

“Which storage room were you talking about?”

“Oh, _now_ it depends on the storage room? Last time it was the pillows. I can see you have high standards.”

You are not sure, but you think you can see the playful glint in his eyes, but his face is as stoic as ever. You contemplate kicking him in the shin for that, but you deserve it after the shit you pulled no more than thirty seconds ago.

“I try to match my standards to your ego.”

He _smiles._

He actually smiles and you want to escape, since it looks so weird and dangerous on his face that your peace is disturbed.

“Nice one. But, you know, both me and my dick still wait for your answer, and it’s getting kinda uncomfortable. And cold so I may or may not be shrinking right now.”

Your face is red. You didn’t want to hear that. You could have lived without hearing that. But, of course, your body definitely disagrees, since you can feel the surge of wetness between your legs. Your mind and your body need to get even on some grounds.

“I will go have some fun with you, if you stop personifying your penis.”

He gives you a one-over as if deciding if you are worth stopping the personification. Your eyes go wide and you laugh at him incredulously and  indignantly, covering your embarrassment. You try to wrangle yourself out of cage made of his limbs, but his hands find your jaw, and he tips your head up, your spine cracking in protest and he kisses you. You are automatically sent back to his room, where you were making out on his bed, and as his already familiar tongue licks the roof of your mouth to hook on your upper teeth, you whine.

It’s quite perilous, really. The walk to the storage room. He has to haul you there, since once you got a taste you don’t want to stop kissing him. Even when he tries to break the kiss, and move back to get a gulp of air and to look around, your lips follow his.

And it’s not like he fights you. He doesn’t, his hands scratching your back and sides, short nails catching on the synthetic fabrics of your suit. Sometimes one of his hands leave your body to cushion your stumbling on the walls. You are walking backwards, mostly on your toes (he is too high for you, he totally is), and your arms are still hooked around his neck, which more often than not you use to stabilize yourself. You hold your cap in one of your hands, latex slapping his skin with every step.

Finally you stumble inside the storage room. Your foot catches on the bottom one of the kickboard stack and you lose your balance. Sehun can’t keep it either, and you fall together, kickboards flying everywhere, the domino reaction taking on the pool noodles as well. You land with a deafening ruckus and in the heap of foam equipment.

The accident has turned out great. You didn’t have to waste time preparing makeshift lair to have sex. Judging from the fact that, as soon as you landed, his mouth is back on yours. You throw away your cap and break the kiss to drag your glasses of your neck. He waits for you, breathing heavily, and his equally heavy erection is digging into your hip.

The second the glasses are gone his mouth is back on yours. It’s urgent and heated, he kisses you swiftly, twisty and definitely sharp, and you find yourself struggling to keep up. You can’t really catch up with his tongue, because when you think you got it, it moves away or he starts sucking your lip into his mouth.

His hips are gyrating on you and you feel this in your whole body, because both of you have full contact, mouth-to-toes coverage. And with only still-wet suits between you can say that you feel him. His weight on you is wiping your mind blank, it’s arousing – the fact that he can hold you down only with his dead weight.

And this time he is not as composed as the last time. He ruts on you, his mouth never leaving yours and your lungs burn. It takes the sharp yank of his hair in your hand for him to let you breath. He lets you take two calming breaths, while he mouths your cheek and temple, and then he is back, his swollen lips attacking yours – just as swollen.

He shifts on top of you, his crotch aligning with yours and you trust up, feeling heat radiating from his groin. He answers rolling down, and if your eyes weren’t closed you’d roll them back into your head. You slide like this together, rutting, rubbing, dry humping each other, like horny teenagers who don’t really know what to do.

Which is absurd, since you obviously know what you want do to, and he undoubtedly knows how to do it (you still didn’t live down the fact you passed out from being eaten out).

And yet, you make out like crazy, having no mind left to get things further. The saliva production has definitely increased and your chin is slick with it. You are not sure if it’s yours or his, but it doesn’t matter. Your chest heaves and your nipples brush his chest, the swim suit not dampening the little jolts of pleasure that friction sends down your spine.

You don’t know what clears your mind enough to get going, but something does. You hook leg around his waist and plant your hands on the floor (and partially on some kickboard), and you push up, trying to flip him over.

He gets the message and you are thankful for his help, because you don’t think you’d be able to do this alone, if he decided to keep being dead weight. But he cradles your neck in his hand keeping your face close enough to kiss your mouth, the other one slides under you to splay on your back, and he lazily rolls over, bring you with him.

You end up on his chest, one of his legs between yours. You bite his lower lip once again and then move back, far enough to speak.

“Do you have condoms?” Your voice is not your own. Hoarse, dry, and dripping with want.

His eyes go wide in panic.

_Fucking perfect._

“Really. _Fucking really?_ ” You ask not exactly coherent, but a little bit pissed.

Or more like: definitely pissed off.

You gather yourself and stand up, for once being able to evade his hands. Because he doesn’t lay still, he tries to keep you on top of him. You look around the room, searching for your cap and glasses, which is not that easy in the mess you have made.

“C’mon!” He whines. He _fucking_ whines, but you ignore him, for the sake of reaching for your cap. “You know that I can get you off without my dick?”

You ignore him once again, because how can you explain him, that the moment you are naked you probably won’t stop until you feel him inside you? And you try to be a responsible adult, and sleeping without protection is not very high on the “responsible adult’s acts” list.

You find your glasses, and you reach for them, but he grabs your wrist, tugging your arm to make you fall on top of him. You adjust your legs, to make sure that you don’t fall, and looking him dead in the eyes, you yank your arm around, putting the force on his thumb. It’s always a weak point in every hold – thumb is not strong enough to hold against muscles of your arm.

He looks clearly surprised as you free your arm and snatch your glasses.

You may have or may have not shot him a satisfied look as you walk out.

Your suit is mostly dry by now (except for the patch between your legs, but you are not going into that) and prying it off is easy. You are quick to change and quick to go out to dry your hair in the corridor.

Because you have already resigned to the fact that your life is a anime, you are not really surprised when you flip your hair back and straighten yourself, and see him sitting on the bench near the doors. It quickens your pulse, but you don’t hurry, as you brush your hair – still damp at the roots.

He doesn’t talk to you this time, but he opens the doors for you as you walk out. And he walks by you, seemingly oblivious to you walking by him. It rubs you the wrong way. Or maybe right?

You reach your dormitory and you halt few meters before your front doors. Sehun takes few more steps before he realizes that you aren’t walking by him. Was he _this_ oblivious?

He turns around to look at you and you don’t allow him to speak up, the residue of arousal shimming in your blood and guiding your actions.

“Do you have condoms on you, _now?_ ” Maybe you should be embarrassed about voicing such a phrase in the broad day light, but you aren’t.  He nods, hand falling on top of his sports bag.

“Always packed.”

“Always packed, but not always prepared?” It was meant as a jab, and he raises his hands as if to say touché. You start walking, your goal finally clear.

“It was a rookie mistake.” You think that you can hear a contempt in his voice. You don’t say anything, because there is to say.

He opens the door for you and you quickly, yet calmly lead him to your room. Keeping your step even is harder that it should be. Thankfully your key slides in on the first try and you walk into your room. He closes the door and you pass him the key, and he locks it without a word. After that he turns to you and you stand like this, you in the center of your room, he next to the doors, both of you with sports bags still on your shoulders.

Your bags hit the floor simultaneously with dull thump and a second later another equally dull thump reverberates in your room, as you push him against your doors. You know exactly that he just allows you to do this, because if he had something else in mind, you wouldn’t be able to push him around.

Your hands are fisted in his shirt and you use it to support yourself as you climb on your toes to reach his mouth. He reacts bending his neck, and finally your lips slide together. You are already familiar with the taste of his mouth, the texture of his lips, but you are happy to reacquaint yourself with it.

He seems to be uncomfortable in this position, and you are not surprised by that, since he is bending his head awkwardly. His solution to that problem is easy, his hands slide down your back, his fingers knead in the underside of your buttocks and he hoists you up.

You are quick to catch on so you jump up, to help him, your legs encircling his waist, securing you in place. His hands under your ass are holding you up, and he leans on the doors for support. Your elbows dig into his shoulders as you kiss him once again, more hurried, less tongue, more teeth, but this time your head is above his, so you use your hands to tip his head up.

It’s hot. It’s _fucking_ hot and sexy. The fact that he can hoist you up, hold you up, and it doesn’t look like he is straining himself. This situation works wonders on your libido and you find yourself gyrating your hips into his abdomen, his fingers clenching on your ass every few seconds.

You are getting dizzy and breathless so you break the kiss, but your mouth stay close to his, you can feel his breath fanning your lips.

You clench your thighs on his sides and he opens his eyes to look at you. You clench your legs again, but he doesn’t seem to get what you want.

“Giddy-up!” You say against his lips and he freezes looking as if he is contemplating snorting as if he was a horse. He settles on a breathy laugh, that puts you into an interesting mix of wanting to escape, because it always so weird when he shows emotion, and wanting to shut him up, ideally with a kiss.

Since escaping right now would be counterproductive you kiss him. The kiss lasts maybe three seconds, because he finally moves and you yelp, when he unglues his back from the door.

It’s precarious really, you draped over his frame and shaking with his every step, his fingers digging into your flesh. And you like how he doesn’t look where he is going, he is staring intensely at your face, and you have to admit, that’s beyond sexy.

That is until he decides to just throw you on your bed. Not sexy anymore.

Your mattress springs and croaks when your dead weight hits it, and your hair splatters on the bed. The air has been kicked out from your lungs, so you can only glare at him. His face is back to his stoic mask, but you can swear you see a mischievous glint in his eyes.

And then he starts walking to the doors and you panic. You are turned on and you need to get off, and he just walks away? He was the one to initiate this whole thing! You were happily ignoring the fact that week and a half ago you had mindblowing sex.

But his hands don’t reach for the handle, he bends down next to his bag and starts searching, and you relax. You toss around the thought of undressing yourself in the mean time, but you decide against it – Sehun looks like one of those guys who love to undress you himself, relishing every patch of skin he frees.

In the corner of your eye you see a remote laying on your night stand and you take it, and turn on the music. He glances over his shoulder at you, but says nothing, and stands up. You are perfectly sure that he makes a point of matching his step with a low beat of the song as he walks to the bed. He puts condom box, _fucking box_ , next to the remote, and takes off his shirt.

Now you are not looking at  his face anymore, not when the pale, perfectly sculpted chest is there for your pleasure. He slowly climbs on top of you, knees on both sides of your thighs, muscles on his torso moving. He clears his throat so you look up to his face, but it shows nothing.

And then he does a slow wave, starting in his shoulders. Your eyes follow it, absorbing how muscles contract and stretch. The move dies and you put your hands on his thighs and look up. Your eyes must be pleading since he cracks a smile and complies. Another wave, and another, again and again. Every now and then he does a reverse wave, and it’s just glorious.

You can’t take your eyes of this private show, and you suspect that this turns him on as well. You can judge it pretty accurately, thanks to his jeans, clearly growing tight.

You can’t take it anymore and you sit up with a moan, your hands sliding up from his thighs, and onto his smooth skin. He reacts immediately, his hands finding the hem of your shirt and lifting it until you raise your arms to help him take it off. He works quickly, urgently, his fingers opening your bra, when you try to trace every line on his abdomen with your nails, your lips mouthing at his jaw.

Your bra is off and his hands splay on your back, and suddenly you are sense of balance is disturbed when he rolls over, flipping you on top of him. You get a hold of yourself quickly, your legs sliding on both sides of his hips until you sit on his pelvis, his cock nestling between your buttocks, hot even through the barrier made of double layer of denim.

He shifts under you, arms going up and under his head. He looks relaxed and the muscles in his arms are on display. His voice rolls over you and you glance at his face.

“Since you seem to be here only for my body you should worship it appropriately, don’t you think?” You sputter at his bashfulness, but at the same time, isn’t that what you wanted?

“Because you aren’t here for my body.” You say back to him, your hands sliding up his chest. 

“Yeah, but I can wait. Since in the end I will take what I want.”

That shouldn’t make you feel the surge of wetness between your legs, but it is what it is, so you are not going to fight. You don’t need to look at his face to know that he is overly pleased with himself. You bend down, your mouth finding his jugular and you drag your lips up until you can nip at his skin just where his jaw ends. The breathy sound he makes is gratifying. He drags his short nails down your back and you arch your spine, trying to follow the feeling, your breasts rubbing on his chest.

You work your way down slowly, worrying his skin between your teeth, leaving read marks of open mouth kisses, hickeys peppered over his pale skin. He breathes slowly, meticulously, with every intake of air you can feel his chest raising. But you are certain that he is making an effort to be this calm.

You are worth your salt.

But getting to be this intimate with his chest, abdomen and every muscle straining his skin is an amazing feeling. You bite his abdominal muscles, just above his navel, and your nails scrape his ribs and you get a first palpable sign that he is getting worked up: he bucks up, his hips coming of the mattress and he breathes out loudly.

You find him looking at you, when you glance up. That makes you finally realize the power he ceded on you and you smile at him, mischievous and promising.

Another sharp inhale is all you get, but you know him enough to know that a very explosive reaction for him.

So you decide to become a little more daring and you use your tongue to draw the line down the middle of his abs, dipping in the navel and going down. You reach the waist of his jeans, his cock just under your throat. You look up one more time and his rapt attention makes your skin tingle.

In a split of a second you consider your option and decide to try your luck. You scoot back and drag your upper teeth across his clothed bulge. You don’t hear his breathing anymore and you think that he is holding his breath. You tip your head and you delicately close your teeth on his erection.

He whines quietly.

You count this as your victory. This allows you to try a thing you have yet to do in your life. You bite the denim next to the button and you pop it open by dragging the fabrics. There is a sound of sharp intake of air above you, but you ignore it in favor of getting hold of the zipper. You need to use your tongue to place the metal between your teeth, but you manage and you pull the fly down.

Suddenly there is a strong hand on your nape and the other one on your arm, and Sehun sits up yanking you up. You are confused, but you answer to his hungry kiss.

“Your worshipping has been enough, this merciful god will grant your wishes.” He whispers into your lips, his hand on your nape holding you in place, as his other hand opens your fly and slides into your underwear.

“I guess you don’t want me around your dick.” You answer trying to be teasing, but your voice is raspy.

“Oh, I want you on and around it.” His thumb is on your clitoris and it’s hard to focus on his words, but you get the meaning and you buck in his hold, your eyes closing. “But don’t worry, we will get to the point where you’ll be on your knees in front of me, properly worshipping my dick.”

It’s cheesy and lame, but it’s working, your hips gyrating, asking for more in your place.

“Talking much?” You slur against his mouth, and he thrusts up, his open fly dragging on the denim on your ass.

His hand leaves your underwear and he hooks his finger into back loop of your jeans and yanks it down. You sit up your knees and move your hands to help him with this work, excitement shimmering under your skin.

It takes a lot of shuffling and awkward bending, but finally you are both naked and you reach for the box left on the night stand, intentionally pushing your breasts in his face. He falls down on your pillow and admires you, his hands once again under his head.

You look at him, raising your eyebrows, package in your hand.

“What? You were quite blatant about me being your ride?” He says indignantly and you decide to ignore him. Putting the condom on has a higher priority. Your work is quick, but efficient, you pump him a few times to make sure everything fits.

“C’mon… Can you get your ass moving?” He tries to encourage you.

“Just stop talking.” You shot back, grabbing his cock and rising on your knees. Not wanting to give him a time to retort, you sink down, quickly, not really ready for the sudden stretch. The forceful slide makes you keen in your throat. You can feel him filling you up just right, every nerve stimulated and you clench purposely, relishing how your muscles work around him.

His moan is a palpable sign that he agrees that the feeling is just glorious.

Doing your best to keep your muscles clenched you raise, but it’s hard. Your thighs hurt, your legs tired after your swimming practice, but you are not going to back down. You slide down, feeling that you are getting warm, perspiration already appearing on your forehead.

You splay your fingers on his chest, covered in red marks from your worshipping. You move slightly forward, shaking the hair out of your face, you look one more time at his face. He is looking at your breasts, but  he senses that you are staring at him and he smirks raising his eyebrows.

You sink your nails in his chest and go on to work. You don’t spare a thought to how tired your body feels, the only thing that matters is the exquisite feeling of his dick in you, his chest under your fingers, his hands clenching on your hips, and his low moans: few and far between, but it makes them even more precious.

You are not shy to voice your feelings, several _fucks_ mixing with breathy moans. Your hair is starting to stick to your neck, drops of sweat flowing down your body, your hands starting to slip on his chest – a telltale sign that he is sweating as well. Muscles in your thighs are pulling madly, but you are not going to stop.

You move back, your hands clenching on his legs for support and you start to rut widely, new angle making his head stimulate your front wall, which is perfect. Every slide in makes his head push against the nerves and you whine, moving in abandon.

Your eyes are closed, so you don’t see Sehun moving, but you can feel that he is moving his legs, bending at the knees, so you move your hands to the bed. A moment later you learn why he propped his feet on the bed – when he thrusts up forcefully, sliding in far and hard and your elbows buck under you, your mouth falling open from how perfect that was.

“One more time.” You manage to rasp out. Thankfully he clearly has no mind left to answer, but a second later you drives in again. You throw your head back, drops of sweat flying, and you groan loudly, animalistic sound reverberating in the room. You are sure that you are pissing off your neighbors, but who would care having a dick like that inside you. It’s amazing, it’s incredible, it’s marvelous. You don’t stop rutting, and he quickly finds a steady rhythm thrusting into you with a few second intervals.

You freeze, when orgasm comes. It takes over your body, your pelvic floor muscles cramping, and fluttering around his cock, and he sinks his nails into your flesh, and he uses his hold to fuck you into oblivion, urgently searching his own release. You don’t need to open your eyes to know that he is absorbing how you look, all sweaty, skin glistening, breasts jiggling, face slack, mouth hanging open in a silent moan.

He comes with a loud grunt and it’s a sound you’d love to hear again, low and raspy, and striking an primal string inside you. You open your eyes, still glazed over with pleasure, but you are coherent enough to see how his eyes roll back into his skull.

He drops down on the mattress, boneless, and he grabs your arm and yanks you down. This time you are not even surprised, and you just fall on top of him. He slides out of you and takes off the condom. You roll around and reach for the bin for him. He throws the condom out and you reach once again, this time for tissues.

It’s kind of weird working together like this, but you don’t want his sperm staining your bed.

_C’mon._

He says nothing, but quickly wipes his dick and throws the tissue out. After that he grabs you and bring you flush against him.

The silence that follows is comfortable, and only now you realize that the music is no longer playing, so you reach for the remote and put it on once again.

“Even if I can get you off without my dick, with it is always the best.” He says. You groan into his chest.

“Just don’t talk.”

“But…”

“Don’t.”

Mercifully he shuts up, his hand sliding on your side. You prop your head on his shoulder, so you can look down at his chest, your hand splayed over the red marks on his skin.

*

One time can be a mistake, but two times sounds like a gateway.

You groan feeling stiff and not really rested. You can feel the dried drool on the side of your mouth and you feel everything but alive human being. Deciding, in your sleep induced haze, that you deserve more rest, you snuggle your face into the pillow.

But that’s no pillow.

The horror overwhelms you as you realize that you have probably drooled onto Sehun’s chest. You feel sticky and hot, and you suddenly feel how uncomfortable you are with one of his legs between your thighs, and your breasts squished on his side.

You want to groan, but you still live in hope that he is fast asleep.

Then you remember that you kind of invited him to your place, so him being asleep won’t help you.

You do groan.

He doesn’t move, so you place your hands on the bed on both sides of his body to use it as a leverage to push yourself up. Your chest is burning from the sudden move, your skin unsticking from his – a horrible sensation.

And yes, you have drooled onto his chest.

You look up, at his face, and you see that his mouth is half open and his head is thrown to the side, his hair ruffled, and he doesn’t look good.

And yes you slept with him. Twice. And only first time was a drunken sex. So your eyes knew exactly what are you taking to your bed.

At least his body is just marvelous.

You get on your knees, trying not to wake him up, and then off the bed. You are successful in getting out of bed without waking Sehun up, but the sad thing is – that was the least important problem you have to face.

But you decide that facing them after shower, with cloths and make up on, will be easier. So you head for your bathroom, walking on your tiptoes (which pisses you off, you should not be afraid to move around your own room).

When you emerge (fully clothed and more alive than earlier) he is already putting on his shirt. You immediately miss seeing his chest, but at the same time you are thankful that his dick is covered – it was distracting you.

He looks around, lazily moving the hem of his shirt down his abs, and you focus on looking at his face, not at his disappearing skin. His face helps you to calm your arousal.

He nods in the direction of your bathroom.

“Would you mind if I…?”

“Help yourself.” You shrug. It’s weird how comfortable he is.

But then again, he had probably gone through this ordeal million times.

Good job, you have just reminded yourself about his numerous conquests. Good way to start a day.

When you walks out, you are sitting on your bed, already made, not to remind you of the previous evening, eating cereal. He doesn’t even ask he just takes a bowl from the drying rack and prepares an easy breakfast for himself and sits down on the chair at your desk.

But he turns in around so it’s facing you.

_Why._

It is awkward because neither of you talks. But then again, it’s not like you ever talk, so you slowly ease into more relaxed stance, and you just try to enjoy your meal. You see him looking around your room, and it hits you that he probably hasn’t had a chance to look at it.

You feel a blush creeping up your neck.

Not only did you invite him up, you pounced on him as soon as he came in. Like an hungry animal. Way to go, girl. Way to go.

You finish before he does, and you just sit there waiting for him. His bowl is empty soon after yours, and he takes yours from your hands and washes both of them in your bathroom.

You stay on your bed, not really knowing what you should do, and you stand up when he comes back. He doesn’t smile at you, but that’s nothing new, really.

He grabs his bag, and he focuses on you with one of his hands on the key in the doors.

“See you around, I guess.”

“Yeah.” You answer, trying to strangle the awkwardness that you feel. He opens the lock, and walks out the door, and just like that he is gone.

You turn the key in the lock, and you turn around, leaning on the doors, feeling emotionally drained.

He left his box of condoms on your desk.

*

After the initial relief that you got him out of your room without any major fuck-ups, you start to think. Yes, you know that you will probably over think everything that happened, but it’s not like you can help it. You know you should just cherish the memory, and enjoy it in the times of need, but, again, it’s not like you can just stop thinking.

And getting pissed.

Ok, so you had sex. So what. But then again, you had sex twice, and both was mindblowing, and hello, are you just this? A girl to forget? Like… It was good right? It was, he cuddled you after! And he just goes out with measly “see you around”? After he tried so desperately to get laid the day before? And c’mon, he took out the box of condoms, and you only get one round? But it’s not like you are going to sleep with him again. You are not a girl that would come as he pleases. He should work!

Do you want him to work for it?

The thing is: you find yourself in the clutch, where you know he is not the one, and you don’t want to be with him, but you kind of want to sleep with him again, and your pride is hurt because he doesn’t seem to want to be with you, and it seems like he wants your body, but you are not sure anymore, and what? Is he going to booty call you? He doesn’t even have your number, because he didn’t ask, and…

Your head falls to your desk and hits it with a loud sound, the wood of your desk protesting. You are not going to lose your mind because of one guy. Who is not even trying.

Your hand reaches for your phone, and quick message is enough to ensure that you are getting drunk tonight.

You meet your friend outside the club. It’s quite late already and you can see people already drunk, smoking outside the venue. Few whistles mark your arrival, but both of you ignore that, and you walk past the bouncer into the club.

Well, you put in a serious effort to look good tonight, so you were not surprised.

And you started your evening back at your room, drinking beer during preparation is always a good idea. Especially when your plan is to get drunk, have fun, dance and go home. It can really cut the cost of your night.

You walk straight to the bar, and the straight vodka flowing down your throat is a fire that you needed to walk on the dancing floor. Your friend just laughs and she follows your suit.

Few shots later, and more than a few songs, you are tipsy, and sweaty, and totally, amazingly free. Your feet are already hurting, but the rush and adrenaline is too much to sit down. You have already danced with a few guys there, not giving them more than one song. You have already rescued your friend from the creepy guy, and she did the same for you. You giggled together, you walked out together, you drunk together (again, and again, and again), you visited bathroom together.

But when she was dancing with a guy, you didn’t feel left alone – you can dance by yourself.

Strobe light on your skin, bass reverberating in your bones, on your skin, in the air, the dry smoke clinging to your skin, the hot atmosphere making your roots damp, the fabric of your top sticking to your skin. It’s great, it’s amazing, it’s purifying.

Male hands appear on your waist. You know the drill, the guy knows the drill, so you just turn around, his hands sliding on your skin as you do so, and they stabilize you when you finish your turn. You look up to decide if you want to dance with him or if you are going to need to get your friends help to get you out of his arms.

_Fuck my life._

*

You scramble to collect your thoughts and instinctively your eyes start to search your friends in the crowd, your mind going into escape mode before you even know it.

But maybe Sehun knows before he drags you closer, your view being cut off by his shoulder, and his hands on your hips put the pressure on, making you follow the music.

But the hands on your hips send you back to your room. You naked and sweaty, your thighs clenching, your mouth falling open, your muscles spasming around him, and strong fingers digging into your skin. Your breath hitch and you swear that you can see the shadow of smile on his face.

You already feel weak and intoxicated. There is a alcohol flowing in your veins, and the arousal starts to surge in your bloodstream.

And he knows that. _Fucker_ knows it all too well, since his fingers align perfectly with a bruises he left there last night and he makes sure you remember.

You wanted to forget, you really did, but being faced with his smell, his body, his movements, you find yourself sliding your hands up his chest, your nails scraping at his nape, his hiss caressing your ear.

He is a good dancer, not a surprise there, but the moment he decides to really dance with you and not just stand there and just rut, comes across as a big surprise. Suddenly his hand finds yours and the other one slides on the small of your back, and you struggle to keep up as he whirls both of you around.

It’s… weird. Plainly weird. You are not used to dancing in clubs, not like that. People around are also dumbfounded, but they move away not to be stamped by you and Sehun. And he doesn’t seem as if cared, leading you surely and quite… _manly?_

If it was anybody, anybody but Sehun you would be completely smitten by now. But it’s anime-bodied, bitch faced, dick animating Sehun, and you are unable to see him as anything, but that.

But then again, it’s a solid body against yours. Body that smells familiar, body that fills your mind with the memories of really good sex. Your senses are working, your body is acting on its own, preparing you for a next round of this really good sex. You can feel yourself getting wet, you can feel yourself getting aroused, you can feel yourself pushing your body against Sehun’s.

And he reacts, by crowding you in his arm. Your breath hitches as you can feel the hard outline of his dick on your hip, you can feel his breath ghosting on your neck, you can feel the teeth scraping your ear, luring, inviting. Your nails sink into his neck as you try to get closer to him, as you instinctively try to catch his mouth, as you try to follow his lips. You are ready for more, you yearn to take it up to the next level.

With the next spin you catch the sight of your friend looking at you speculatively. That’s when you realize: it was more than one song, and it’s Sehun. Two times is enough. Two times is more than enough, two times is at least one time too much. Ideally two times too much. But going for a third, with a guy of this kind of reputation is just stupid. It’s asking to be hurt and emotionally drained.

You know that. And you are not going to suffer that.

Not for a brief moment of out-of-this-world pleasure.

Even if it’s Sehun’s body we are talking about.

You wrangle yourself out of his hold, which in your state is not an easy feast, and you don’t look at him, as the adrenaline hits you, and you push yourself through the crowd. You think that you are going to the bar, but your legs bring you to the entrance, and still not really coherent you decide to call it a day.

*

“By now you should know the leg muscles by heart. We spent last month getting acquainted with them, slowly getting warmed up to them, and slowly falling in love, right?” There is a slight agreeing murmur and polite laughter coming from the aula. Professor smiles at the gathered students, his eyes cranking. “So since we are already steady…”

“It’s not that easy!” Male voice from the back rows disrupts him and the room follows with laughter.

“We are sorry for you, Mr. Kowalsky.” Another salve of laughter echoes. “But let’s focus. Since we are already going out with leg muscles, how about we spice it up a little.”

The whole class already knows what is going to follow, we all know the syllabus.

“Time to start our journey with upper body muscles!” Announces professor proudly.

“So basically we are going to cheat on leg muscles?”

“I’m afraid so,” answers professor with a mock sadness,” but we are going to get a special help today! Dobby the skeleton will not be joining us today, as we got a real specimen!”

There are cheers in the aula, more to please the lector than to show the enthusiasm for the “real specimen”, even though seeing the muscles on the real person is always better than their plastic version.

“Yes, yes, come in.” Your head snaps up, as you were slightly unfocused. The professor is greeting a “real specimen”, and it takes you literally no time at all to recognize the head you can see above the head of your teacher.

You don’t even question that anymore. Your life is a _fucking_ anime.

But immediately your body starts to yearn. It’s as if you turned the switch on. You were able to go few days without thinking about Sehun (or more like you spent last few days very deliberately not thinking about him and his chest), but seeing him now, and his ridiculously long body, awoke the need you were trying to kill. It starts to resemble an obsession. Or worse, addiction.

“So, Sehun is a son of my friend, and he agreed to model for us today. He is pro swimmer, so his upper body muscles are more defined than usually, making it easier to recognize them. Of course for a better understanding and to broaden your knowledge about the muscles hidden below the first layer, we’ll be using Dobby since next class, but as for now…”

Sehun is standing in the middle of the room, his face as bland as always. You (and the handful of other girls) eye him attentively, and you can see his lazy scanning of the rows. He doesn’t seem to recognize you, or even see you in the crowd – unless lazy blink of his eyes is a some kind of a signal. And you suspect it’s not.

“Sehun, would you mind…?” Professor voice hovers in the air, and Sehun slowly looks to him, before he realizes what the teacher wants from him.

To the obvious delight of the girls sitting in the room, he takes off his shirt.

*

You love his body. You do. It’s on the verge of being obsessive, but his body… His body is just perfect. Perfect ratio, perfect sculpture, flawless skin, defined lines. Everything just perfect, but again, seeing his body, a body that in your mind has a very clear connotation, in your classroom was a horrible, horrible experience.

With an older professor pointing out the muscles, the girls giggling, guys murmuring, and Sehun just being his old, not-interested self, the scenery looked unreal.

And being reminded about two rounds of mindblowing sex during your lecture didn’t help at all.

Since you found yourself craving for a next round.

Your lecture lasted two hours. Two hours of sophisticated torture and a dilemma sending your mind into a state of chaos.

The lecture ended with the symphony of voices, mostly female voices showing their dismay that their model covered his body. Giggling and discussion followed, and you found yourself struggling to break through, notebook and pencil case in your hands – you are too hazed to stuff them in your bag.

You have goose bumps, your head is spinning, your thighs are wet, and you can smell your arousal. And suddenly you are brave enough to do something about it.

You skip every second step on your way downstairs, but you only catch Sehun outside of the aula. Your fingers clench on the fabrics of his sleeve to grab his attention. He looks around, but he doesn’t show that he recognizes you.

It’s ok, it’s not like he doesn’t.                                                                                                              

“You left your condoms in my room.” If it’s a greeting it’s fucking weird. _Way to go girl._

“Yeah?” Is it a hint of amusement you see in his eyes?

“How about we make use of them?”

*

You find it surprising that you don’t blush, even if you are asking guy for sex. In the middle of crowded corridor. And you know Sehun long enough to sense his amusement, even if his face is as blank as always.

“Do I seem like a booty call to you?”

It’s not an answer you’d like to hear. Is it even an answer?

But before you can pull yourself back together (that is before you can stomach the embarrassment), he turns on the heel and just walks away.

_What was that?_

You are left standing there, dumbfounded, not really sure what happened, feeling how the blush is creeping up your neck, feeling the amazing urge to look up booty call in the urban dictionary, because you feel like he misused it.

Or maybe you don’t know what _the fuck_ just happened.

*

Next time you see him, you wish you haven’t.

It’s during your training session, one of the last two before his tournament. You can immediately tell that he is in his prime. Body, muscles, technique, times – there is nothing not perfect there. And his wet and pale, but broad chest is as inviting as ever.

Of course, you are back to ignoring him, you are not going to acknowledge him after the shameful event from that time.

But it’s not like he acknowledges you either. What’s more, he is definitely acknowledging the coach’s new assistant. A girl straight from the physical education major, doing internship. Nice body ratio, with shoulders a notch too broad, a clear sign of her being a swimmer as well. But that makes her waist look even more narrow, and you are not happy with yourself for noticing that.

The girl is nice and full of warmth, the advice she gives is meaningful, but that doesn’t change the fact that seeing her help Sehun stretch, pisses you off.

Even if you try your best to ignore the feeling.

As always the boiling feeling of anger helps you to get through your laps, and you leave pool feeling drained, both physically and emotionally.

It’s time to leave Sehun behind you.

It weird how three weeks in your life can stretch for so long. How they can change your routine, how they can kick your life on a different track. It’s been exactly three weeks since Sehun walked you to your doors. Three weeks of mental turmoil and more than satisfying sex. Ok, you had sex only two times (even if you made a move for a third one), but still it’s enough to fill those three weeks.

You knew Sehun was a player, you knew that and yet you dived head first into sleeping with him. It shouldn’t be surprising that he decided to move on.

Even if it pisses you off to be the one that is left. Had you suspected that, you’d have broken it off yourself.

And yet you are the one who is losing, the one that has been stood up.

And that is more irking than the fact that this relationship was ended.

It hurts to have your pride destroyed.

*

It’s surprisingly easy to let go. It was just sex after all. Amazing, _oh so amazing_ , sex, but it’s not like feelings got involved. Except for your deep love for his muscles – but that’s more of a kink. Enjoyable kink, the one you are more than happy to revoke during late night sessions, but that would be it.

“Hi.”

You look up from the papers you’ve been working on. The campus café is quite loud as always, but you are already accustomed to working in this busy environment. Even if it means meeting a lot of acquaintances.

Your heart refuses to skip a beat as Sehun slides down on the opposite chair. His sports bag hits the floor next to the table, his jersey (the uni’s swimming team jersey) is already on the back of the chair. His hair is still damp, you can see it clearly when he bends his head down as he moves some of your papers so he can put his coffee down. There is a tale telling wide ribbon on his neck, its ends hidden under his tanktop.

He looks good. Glowing even.

“Hi.” You answer, because that’s polite, reaching for the papers he moved out of his way. You don’t want to mess up your meticulously prepared working zone.

Even if you know that you won’t do _shit_ until he leaves, because you want to know what he wants from you. Simply and truly.

“I won today.” Right, his finals were today. But you could have told that he won something from the medal hanging on his neck.

“First place? Congratulations.” There is nothing else you can say, so you reach for your smoothie to mask the awkwardness. He looks at you in silence for a touch longer period of time than necessary, before he takes off the medal and places it in front of you. You get the signal so you pick it up, the plated disc quite heavy.

“For you.” Your eyes snap up to his face and immediately you put the disc down.

“Thank you, I’m good.” Seriously, _what the fuck is that._ Not talking to you at all and suddenly he tries to give you a gold medal he just won? What kind of romantic _shit_ is that?

Sehun takes a sip of his coffee.

“I want you to have it.” He looks you square in the eyes. Even if you wanted to protest it shuts you up. “Because you are my first.”

He looks serious, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, as if he wasn’t sure he likes the phrasing he used. You don’t like this atmosphere so you are going to use his phrasing to calm it down.

“You are giving me a medal, because you lost your virginity with me? Sounds like bullshit.” You manage to keep your face straight, while saying that. The medal is still laying on top of your foot’s bone sketch.

Sehun seems thoughtful.

“Should have I said that you always come first with me?” He says slowly, and you laugh incredulously. It is true that he would bring you over the edge before finishing himself, but still, to voice it out loud and in the pun on top of that, is plainly weird. “What.”

You shake your head in answer and grab your pen.

“Ok, Sehun, you had your fun, you can go now.” Silence is your answer, but you know that he hasn’t moved. You bite your lower lip trying to focus on writing, or at least trying to look focused, because you’d love to see him go. You’d love it, because he wouldn’t be confusing you anymore.

But he didn’t go. He kept sitting with you, not really moving, and you could feel his eyes on you, watching you work. You tried your best to ignore him, studying, but he was hard to ignore. Him just being there made you uncertain.

Only when you need to move the gold medal still laying on the stack of your papers, you hear anything from him. An exhale let’s say. Long, and heavy one.

You look up, because it’s not a sound you’d expect from him, it’s neither angry nor disgruntled. It’s just shaken.

He looks stressed, unnervingly so. His hair is ruffled as if he run his hand through his locks several times, you can see the red patches on his neck and collarbone as if he was rubbing the skin. He is not comfortable in his seat, now you see how he sits on the edge, and how his leg is shaking under the table.

The realization comes as a lighting from a blue sky. Sehun is lost. He is completely lost, and he has no idea what to say, how to behave, because he probably never learnt how to.

He only knows how to flirt.

Suddenly you are overcame with emotions, piled up experiences and thoughts flood through your system, and it’s weird how you don’t see Sehun-the-player anymore sitting in front of you. It’s Sehun, nervous undergrad, awkward swimmer, who in the roundabout way tried to confess his feelings.

Who in the roundabout way tried to confess his feelings four weeks back, when he walked you to your dorm, Sehun who was watching you swim intently enough to give you pointers how to improve your technique, a boy whose night job left him knowing how to pick up girl, but not how to keep her.

And there you were, initiating the first time you had sex, and yet escaping right after it, even before he had woken up, there you were ignoring him for days after, probably leaving him guessing what went wrong. There you were denying it to him, and then leading him into your own room. There you were cuddling with him through the rest of the night, and waking up in his arms, and then focusing on showing him out your doors in the morning. There you were dancing with him at the club, and there you were leaving him in the middle of the crowd, after you did your best to arouse him. There you were running after him from your lecture to lure him.

You were the one going into this for sex. You were the one asking for his body, when he was ready to give you more, but he didn’t know how to ask. You were the one focused on sex.

And sex is not a good base for a relationship.

But it’s not like you did a bad thing. You cannot just declare yourself as a sinner. You didn’t know. How could have you known that Sehun-the-stripper-with-numerous-past-encounters wanted you to be more than a one-night stand?

And then again, do you want him to be something more than just the guy who eats you out the best?

You focus on him once again. He is quite frozen, as a deer caught in the headlights. Flat, weirdly shaped face, not really handsome, but not repulsive; long neck and pronounced collarbones; broad shoulders, and chest going down to narrow waist and…

… and once again you are focusing on his body.

A body you know, a body you like.

But do you know anything about Sehun? Except for being swimmer and a stripper? You try to remember something, anything really, but all you get is his naked chest, his back under your fingers, his hands holding you up, keeping you down, flipping you over…

And now you are getting aroused. Again.

You drink the rest of your smoothie (mango, strawberry, apple) and you put your glass down, feeling how unfair your life is. You try to focus on the person, and you just fall back to worshipping their body.

_Should you give him a chance?_

You sigh, and you start to collect your papers. You hesitate a moment before grabbing the medal, and wrapping it around your wrist, not knowing what to do with this present. You know that he is looking at you, but you don’t have anything to say to him, so you just secure your bag on your shoulder, with your papers kept against your stomach by the hand with a medal.

You stand up, and you can see how Sehun slides down the chair. Child.

It irks you, but as you make your way to the door, it irks you more to leave him like that. You are unable to proceed, you can feel your throat getting dry, you can feel your legs getting heavy. So you just stop.

“Are you coming?” You ask, looking back at the table you left. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t inquire, he just reacts and collects his bag and jersey, and he just comes to your side. Is it hope? Is it trust?

You walk together in silence, but close enough for you to smell his perfumes, the smell that you’ve grown to associate with sex.

But is there anything connected to Sehun that you don’t associate with sex?

That’s objectifying. And now you know that.

The weather is nice, and the wind is blowing, the trees on the campus rustling. The perfect scenery for a romantic walk of the campus pair, and you are going for a cliché, but you are not going to back down.

_Let’s do this shit._

Your free hand moves and seize his. It’s rushed and not really subtle, but Sehun doesn’t really make a big deal out of it. His fingers secure the hold on your hand and that would be it. Suddenly you feel as if you were the one to try to confess and failing. Not him.

Neither of you send the other one those secretive, shy looks. It’s not sweet romance, it’s not shojo manga. You did already screw your brains out. Twice.

And your hand in his only fuels the fire that keeps telling you that three times a charm.

You have to stop for a second, because your papers threaten to fall out of your hold, and that’s the moment when his hand leaves yours – he takes the papers away, and his fingers calmly find the way into yours once again.

It’s chivalrous, but the only thing you can think right now, it’s riding him into horizon. Which is really unromantic.

You will never be a romance heroine.

The medal is dangling from your wrist, ringing with your every step. The sound is quiet, yet persistent. Just like Sehun.

It’s not bad. Walking next to him. With your hand in his. You don’t feel like running away, so you count that one as a win. Would you keep walking with him like that? Probably. Would you mind him being exclusive for you? Hell no.

You reach your dorms and now you have to look at him. When you raise your eyes, shifting your body to face him, he is already looking down on you.

God, he is _tall._

“Thank you for the medal.” You say, as it’s the only thing that comes to your mind. You shake the golden disc, and Sehun nods.

_Yeah, let’s keep the conversation going, shall we?_

It’s easy when your interlocutor is as talkative as Sehun is. How is that he gets truly talkative only when trying to hook up with somebody?

Talking with your body seems easier, so you reach your hand out, the one with the medal, and you rest it on his tape, and you use it to bring him down, enough for you to peck his lips. Of course he goes in. It’s a known territory, he knows how that works.

Which you feel, when he deepens the kiss, and suddenly you can smell you arousal. You answer the kiss, with a hunger of a girl that believed that she is never going to taste this again. With a hunger fueled by sheer desire surging through your veins.

It’s Sehun who breaks the kiss, it’s Sehun who sees that both of you fall back into the old pattern. He rests his forehead on yours, body bent down so he can reach you, his labored breath fanning your face. Your chest is heaving, and you don’t open your eyes, feeling how your lips are tingling. You can still feel his teeth on them.

You hear Sehun swallowing, and the pride you get from the knowledge that you have the ability to push him to the edge that quickly is definitely plausible.

“Um, right,” he says with a visible difficulty, “let’s, oh… When can I see you again?”

You know that he is trying to push this relationship back on the track that is deemed normal by every romance plotline in history. Sweet dating, hands holding, slow progress. But you cannot go back, you got the taste, you are not going to forget it. Nor you want to.

You rush forward and kiss him again, your hand that was in his hold coming up to his jaw, to keep his head where you want it. He whines quietly in the back of his throat. The sound is pained, but he kisses you back, his now free hand clutching on your arm, as if he was seeking help.

Once again he is the one to break the kiss.

“Oh, can we, god…” You don’t let him finish, you don’t want him to finish. Once again your lips tease his, and you murmur against his mouth:

“I want you.”

It’s a clear statement. And a true one. And seemingly painful for Sehun, because he groans, and looks truly distressed.

You _are_ a sinner.

He doesn’t protest anymore so with an air of a winner you drag him inside. The walk to your room is exciting enough for you to feel the trepidation on your heart.

Once again you find yourself with Sehun in your room, and you couldn’t be more excited. You throw your bag on your chair, you take the papers away from Sehun’s hold, you put the medal on your desk, you find the condoms he left last time and you throw them on your bed.

At the same time Sehun does… Nothing really. He keeps standing where you left him, the indecisiveness showing on his face. He is really conflicted, and you minutely feel bad for putting him through this ordeal.

You sit on your bed, suddenly not so sure anymore. You don’t want to hurt him, not really. But it hurts you to think that sleeping with you would hurt him. What kind of logic is that, really.

“Do you want to go?” You ask quietly, as you sit down on your bed. You don’t want to hear his answer.

“No.” He says. “I’m waiting for you to put the music on.”

You look up at him, and he is staring at you quite blankly, but you recognize his face. This face. You laugh and find the remote. The moment your finger hits play, his sports bag hits the floor, with his jersey falling on your chair.

His hips snap forward first. His chest is the one to follow, in tight body wave, you know that move, you love that move. His hands come up to his neck, and you laugh as he seductively rolls one of the straps of his tanktop down his shoulder. He dances his way to you, moves sharp when he wants to, then fluid when he feels like it. You love every moment of the show you get. Every time he flashes his skin, every time he lewdly thrusts his hips in the air, you can feel the ghost of him inside you.

You moan, when he straddles your lap, even though he has yet to touch you. But you are not going to wait, your hands already creeping under his top, fingers splayed on the abdominal muscles, you can feel them stretching and contracting, and your thighs shiver. He has yet to touch you, and you are already breathing heavier.

You want him so much, it starts to hurt.

You fall down on the mattress, and Sehun doesn’t hesitate to come down after you, his head fitting under your jaw, his teeth scraping your jugular. You push your hips up, feeling trapped, but knowing that you don’t want to be in any other place than under his body, with his hands on both sides of your own body, with his left hand on your hair splattered on your bed.

Your chest comes of the duvet when he bites down. It’s painful, so you answer with your nails sinking into his skin, leaving angry red marks on his back, but you want him to do that again. And he indeed does and your mouth fall open in the silent cry. It gives you enough incentive to grab the hem of his top, to drag it up, to free him from it.

He sits up and takes it off, and just throws it behind him. You try to follow in his suit, but he doesn’t let you sit. Before you know what he is aiming for he dives back down, his breath on your cleavage, shyly creeping between your breasts. Your eyes fall shut and you grab the pillow over your head, and that’s when you hear the material tearing. You open your eyes in alarm, and you see him sitting, stare definitely mad and he grabs the two sides of your shirt on your chest and he just tears it. You buck under him, not really believing what happened.

The need is becoming animalistic, and you cannot say that you find a fault in that.

Your chest is heaving, but you don’t try to calm yourself. You raise an eyebrow to make Sehun work for it. Right now you know that he wants you just as badly as you want him (if the way he tore your shirt is any indication), so you are going to enjoy yourself.

His hands run up your sides, slowly meticulously, as if he was trying to commit the shape of your waist to his memory. He doesn’t have to, you are going to let him feel you up anytime he asks.

You curl your legs and you use them to send him forward. He lets you, and he falls down, hands coming up to support him, as your chests touch. He rest on his forearms, his hand slowly caressing the side of your face.

“Any wishes for today?” He asks and smiles mischievously. Your head falls back when you laugh, finding it hard to believe that it’s happening.

“Let’s go wild.” His smile only grows bigger and he kisses you. It’s a lazy, yet promising one, and anticipation overwhelms you. He kisses your jaw next, lips sliding down your neck, outlining the collarbone, ghosting over the cleavage, running down the valley between your breasts, skimming over the narrow belt of your bra, gliding down the expanse of your naked stomach. Your breath hitches as his mouth reaches the hem on your jeans. You can still feel the residue of warmth on the path he took, you can feel how your body responds, how your body increase the produce of the liquids. You swallow your saliva, and in answer Sehun kisses your abdomen, right above your jeans, and sucks in the skin. You moan, as the realization that he is basically marking you gets through your clouded mind. You don’t mind this notion. You don’t mind it at all.

You don’t have to look down your body to know that you are sporting quite magnificent love bite on your lower abdomen.

That’s why when Sehun decides to copy your achievement from the last time you had sex in this bed. Last time he was the one on the mattress. Last time you were the one to open his pants using your mouth. You had no idea how arousing is that. The heat of his breath, his closeness to your vagina, his weight on your legs, keeping you from moving away, his teeth finding your zipper and slowly dragging down.

You trash on the bed, whining, already overwhelmed, and he has yet to do anything. He drags your open jeans down, making sure that your underwear goes down as well. He drags your pants all the way down, taking your shoes and socks off in the process. Your toes curl, now exposed to the air, and you try not to remember the last time his lips were around your clitoris you lost your consciousness.

But you can tell from his face that he remembers that all too clearly. It may be one of the proudest moments in his life. The smile you get is vicious, before his fingers clench on your thighs and he pushes your legs to your stomach. Instinctively your hands come up to hold them, and he just goes down.

You are strung out even before you feel his tongue. Which doesn’t happen that quickly. He takes his time nipping at the skin of your inner thigh, he takes his time blowing air on your labia, the puffs of air colder than your surroundings. You bite your cheek, not putting up with his teasing. But when he gets to business, it’s just glorious. He is meticulous. He hunts. He takes notes of your reactions, he remembers them and goes for what you are most responsive to, he holds your weaknesses against you.

He is good. _God, he is_ fucking _great. Amazing._ You are falling apart in mere minutes, your legs trembling, your nails marking your skin, your chest shaking with uneven breaths, your face wet from perspiration and your tears, mouth just hanging open. Your throat is already giving up, husky rasps going out instead of moans.

“Look at me.” It’s a command. Ordered with a strung out voice, low, hoarse and voluptuous voice, a voice that doesn’t leave a room for a fight. So you look down, your neck struggling to keep your head up. The first thing you see are his eyes, clouded and hungry, then red, abused lips come into your view, and skin around it glistening from his saliva and your lubrication. You moan brokenly as your head falls down.

You know your clitoris is swollen, your pelvic floor muscles are pulsing, your brain pumping your blood southward. Your body is at the point of begging. Hell, you are ready to beg.

“Sehun…” Your voice is ragged, and you are surprised that you managed to say anything at all. Your reward comes as a lips enclosing your clitoris, sucking around it, making your hips buck up, fighting against hands keeping your down. One of your legs fall down, thigh resting on his shoulder, and your fingers dig into his scalp. It’s his time to moan, the sudden vibrations making the pleasure nearly unbearable.

You want to feel him before you come. You need to feel him to come.

“Sehun!” You try again, but instead of a plea, it sounds like a praising song. It is praising song. Or maybe it’s a prayer, because it’s time to pray for your life.

Your second leg falls down trapping him between your thighs, but he doesn’t seem unhappy about that. You free hands clutches the nightstand, and you feel something digging into your arm.

_Condoms._

It takes more willpower than it should to fish one out of the box. Sehun is focused on bringing you over, and fighting that it’s like fighting a tsunami. You just don’t fight. You just try not to get drowned when it hits you.

But before it does, you flick the package against his forehead. That finally grabs his attention, and thankfully that is the only incentive he needs. He frees himself from between your legs standing up to take off his pants. Hell, he still has his shoes on.

You lay on the bed, limbs sprawled, using all the time you can to calm down. You want this to go on.

The times he needs to put the condom on is definitely too short for your liking, you are still on the verge of coming when he climbs back on board. He goes for a kiss, sharp and windy, and you are too out of it to keep up, but you try your best. You hope that he is going to drive into you as soon as the kiss is over, maybe even during it.

But he has different plans. Like always.

He scoots back and flips you over. It’s nothing new, you know he can do that. You don’t protest, whatever he does it’s going to be good, so no point in opposing.

Even if you land on your stomach, he wants you on all fours. His message is clear, and now you are submissive enough to just go for it. Your legs are trembling, your arms are not going to keep you up for long, your head already down, weighting your upper body down. He kisses you between your shoulder blades, hands flipping your hair onto one side of your neck, so he can nose the other side. He inhales, clearly smelling you and then he bites down. You wail, your arms bucking under you, and your legs spreading a little. Your body is covered in sweat so it’s not hard. His hands dig into your ass cheeks, and you are not surprised when stinging slap connects with one of them, sending you forward. You love that. _God, you love it so_ fucking _much._

“Sehun…” It’s no more than a whimper, a sound forced into his name, and apparently it’s too much for him, because he groans in answer and he just slams into you.

It’s perfect. It’s perfect. This position is perfect for a deep penetration, and with Sehun’s dick… God, you feel everything. It’s deep, it’s at the walls, it’s hard, and hot, and just so, so perfect.

He doesn’t waste time, his hips snap forward, and he buries himself even deeper and you choke back the moan. It takes four thrusts, long and deep, before your arms collapse. Your head falls on your pillow, and you compliantly  take him, his thighs slapping against yours. The sounds filling the room are filthy and voluptuous, the slick sounds of him sliding into you, the slapping sounds of skin hitting skin, ragged breaths, broken moans.

Your saliva is dripping on your pillow, mixing with your sweat and tears, but it’s so perfect that you don’t care. Your toes are curled permanently now, legs shaking and cramping, your stomach hallowing with every hard earned breath.

Suddenly his body covers yours, chest gluing to your back, the sweat trapped between your bodies. This new angle is deeper, and his thrusts more restrained, one of his thumbs finding your clitoris. You cry out loud, it’s too much for you, it’s too much for you to take, and he knows that. He can feel you cramping around him, muscles working viciously, keeping him inside.

His breath fans your neck and you don’t want to lose this feeling of intimacy.

“You are beautiful like this. Overwhelmed. Over stimulated. Pliant under me.” His voice is quiet, and his words are disrupted by his labored breathing, his lips tickling the skin on your jaw. You shut your eyes, his slurred words the last push you needed.

The supernova explodes in the bottom of your stomach, flooding the system, overflowing the nerves, your muscles contracting as you collapse under him. Sehun follows, his weight dead on you, and he ruts until he reaches his own release. It’s mercifully quick, but those last short trusts keep you on your proverbial toes as he fuck you through your orgasm, and he continues to push into you even as he reaches his own.

You don’t dare to open your eyes, feeling boneless, but satisfied. Sated. You don’t mind Sehun laying on your back, squishing you under his body. You don’t mind his shrinking penis still inside you.

Soft, featherlike kiss lands on your shoulder blade.

“Was it good?”

You snort into your wet pillow. The question is stupid, and he knows that. But he still tries to make you voice it out loud, searching for a focal point. You hum in answer.

“Good enough to go exclusive?”

You don’t want to voice your amusement, so you turn around, feeling how his dick leaves your body, and you throw your hands on his neck. You peck his lips, it’s an affectionate move. God, you are falling for that. Are you falling for him?

His eyes search your face and you smile at him brightly.

“We’ll see.”


End file.
